This Used To Be My Playground
by Glimmer Conlon O'Leary
Summary: This used to used to be the place we ran to whenever we were in need of a friend...Why did it have to end? Where did you all go? Why am I here alone?


_(Disclaimer: the song "This Used To Be MY Playgounrd" is owned by Madonna and her label, and is featured in the movie "A League Of Their Own" which I claim no rights to. Blink and other newsies belong to Disney. )_

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**_{This Used To Be My Playground} _**by GLimmer Conlon O'Leary

I walk this street every morning, every evening. And it seems, albeit impossibly, that each time I see that old building, a new memory sparks in my mind. 

As I see the new boys pour out of the establishment, a pang runs through me. That one looks like you Jack, that one like you Jake, and that one like you Specs. So many of them remind me of you boys. 

I remember this place. I remember…
    
    _(This used to be my playground _
    
    _This used to be my childhood dream_
    
    _This used to be the place I ran to_
    
    _Whenever I was in need_
    
    _Of a friend_
    
    _Why did it have to end)_

Oh God, how I miss it all. I never got out of here; I'm not like the rest of you. Jack flew off to Santa Fe as soon as we all started leaving, and Race made it big, finally. He's some bigwig in Boston now. Dave is a reporter now—Damn upsetting for his parents, who wanted him to be a doctor, or maybe a lawyer. But he moved to Chicago, works for the Chicago Sun Times. Countless others—Mush, who stayed in the City, is married now, with a few brats; and he lives in a big, beautiful home in Upper Manhattan. I hear tell he's a doctor; always had a gentle hand, that one. To think that I thought him and I would be best friends until our dying days. I was so optimistic back then.

Times sure have changed.
    
    _(And why do they always say_
    
    _Don't look back_
    
    _Keep your head held high_
    
    _Don't ask them why)_
    
    I need the memories. When I go back to that cold, empty tenement, I need the memories to keep me warm. I hate being alone. I never used to be alone, I used to have my friends to fill that void left by my family. Now the hole is bigger. 
    
    _(Because life is short_
    
    _And before you know_
    
    _You're feeling old_
    
    _And your heart is breaking_
    
    _Don't hold on to the past_
    
    _Well that's too much to ask)_
    
    Some days I feel as if my world is tumbling down. The damn factory is always the same, always just a job. I remember how, when we were kids, we'd all tell stories about how we were going to be some big-shot, and how we wouldn't end up like the men we saw everyday: sweating in the factories, making barely enough to live on. And hell, I became what I swore I never would. I'm just another example for the newsboys. And I have no doubt that a lot of them will be joining me here in a few short years. 
    
    But at least I have the memories of my youth to hold on to.
    
    _(But I wish that you_
    
    _Were here with me_
    
    _Well then there's hope yet_
    
    _I can see your face_
    
    _In our secret place_
    
    _You're not just a memory_
    
    _Say goodbye to yesterday_

_Those are words I'll never say)_

You know what? Some nights I sit in my bed and pray. I pray with all my might that, one day, I may see one of you come strutting up the walk. Pathetic, huh? But I know you'd recognize me, I haven't changed a bit. Oh, factory life has bulked me up; and when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I have a weary, worn look to me. The patch is still there, though, and there are days when that boyish, impish grin still comes to surface. It's on those days that Mush's face doesn't leave my mind—my best friend, the only one whose smile seemed to pair mine. 
    
    _(This used to be my playground _
    
    _This used to be our pride and joy_
    
    _This used to be the place we ran to_

_That no one in the world could dare destroy)_

Some say that all the turf wars of 'Old Time" newsboys are all myths made up to intimidate the boys of today. But I remember them well; for who could forget the injuries, the deaths? But I knew, through it all, that no one could destroy the safe, affectionate protection of the Newsboys' Lodging-house. We loved that place; and today, looking at that familiar sign, standing on those proverbial steps, looking at that well-used, well-known wooden door, I know it hasn't changed. 

These boys are just like we used to be: everyone's a potential customer. One boy about the age I was during the strike swaggered up to me and said, in a voice that was the quintessence of smooth, "Buy a pape sir?"  As I looked into his shockingly vivid blue eyes, the exact color of the sky on a cloudless day, I realized that _he_ is what makes the new boys think that street life ain't so bad. He was built like Mush, with muscles up to his neck, with a baby face like mine, and those eyes that reminded me of a certain Conlon. They had a very specific look in them, one that says he has lived through Hell and that he has made it to the coolness or serenity. Spot had those eyes: eyes full of past pain, present power, and future victory. 

Spot. Rich, happily married, two beautiful children. He is what we all strived to be, and what I did not become. 
    
    _(This used to be our playground_
    
    _This used to be our childhood dream_

_This used to be the place we ran to)_

Oh, this place. Good God, what memories it holds. I wish you were here now, all of you, to see this. Seeing this building every day is still a shock, but today it seems different, and more familiar. Looking at it now, it's like walking into the past. It's like walking into our time. Everywhere I turn I see _this_ scuffle, _this _joke, _this_ game, _this_ laugh, _this_ new kid, _this_ cry, _this_ time. God, how I miss that time. How I miss you boys. 

If you ever come back to Manhattan, be sure to visit the old Lodging-house. Be sure to stay as long as you can before the recollections threaten to smother you. Be sure to look for me, Kid Blink, the last one left. I'll walk by at one point, and I'll pause, and I'll breathe in as deep as my lungs will allow and let it out slowly, wishing for one of those cigarettes I used to chain-smoke back then. 

Back then…

Remember how the fee used to be two cents a night? How most of us 'skimmed' on the payments? The memories stay with you forever, and though you could try to forget your past as a street rat, you can't skim _them_ off your mind's eye. I don't want to. You boys have kept me alive these past seven years. 

Damn it, someone come. Please come…
    
    _(The best things in life are always free_

_Wishing you were here with me)_

Come be here with me. 

Please.

For the first time in my life, I'm truly begging…

**_{EndNotes}_**

Tell me whatcha think! I luffle y'all!


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